impulse
by ribbons-blue
Summary: The foundation of their relationship was built on a precipice, wavering between intimacy and the fear of pursuing it /Or, Five times Elijah wished to kiss Elena, and the one time he finally does. [Elijah x Elena]
1. Chapter 1

_impulse_

* * *

_The foundation of their relationship was built on a precipice, wavering between intimacy and the fear of pursuing it (Or, Five times Elijah wished to kiss Elena, and the one time he finally does)._

* * *

**IMPORTANT NOTE: This story is set slightly after the episode "All My Children" in which Esther attempted to destroy her children. This means that all the events in episodes after that are firmly being ignored for the purposes of this story. Therefore, Elena is still human, Finn and Sage aren't dead, etc.**

* * *

—

—

—

I.

The first time he experiences it is immediately after the final battle with Esther.

After her first attempt at slaughtering those she had once counted as her beloved children had ended in dismal failure, Esther had returned only months later with a vengeance and renewed fury.

Driven insane by her own self-disgust at actions long passed, loathing the part she had played in the creation of beings she could view as nothing more or less than pure evil incarnate, she had set out to eradicate both her children…and the entirety of the vampire race in the process.

Genocide was, apparently, a small price to pay in penance of her sins against nature.

For her progeny, and those they had in turn spawned, were, according to the ancient witch, abominations that humanity needed to be rid of.

_Monsters_, she had called them. _A pestilence, _she had hissed. _Dishonorable murderers._

Hate blinding her to all else, motherly love long since washed away by the dusty eons spent obsessing with the misdeeds of her children, the cruel epithets were truly what, in her eyes, her children had become.

Esther had never, after all, seen the boyish grin that dances across Klaus's face when immersed in one of his sketches, nor heard Rebekah's uninhibited laughter when Kol mischievously sneaks a daring finger across her still-ticklish knee, or watched as Finn's solemn eyes grew that much brighter whenever Sage glided into a room, red hair dancing merrily. She had never witnessed the softness in Elijah's gaze as a young human proved to him over and over that the future was not so hopeless as it seemed.

And so, with such an irretractable mindset, she descended upon a once-serene little town with the intention of heedlessly bringing a wrathful flame of devastation to scorch the town, uncaring of innocent lives so long as her children were engulfed in the burning fire.

Bonds were forged through necessity, unwilling alliances spun by reluctant weavers who were all too aware that should they falter, should they betray one another, their fates would be that of a grim unison in death. Witch and werewolf, vampire and human—for the first time in the hate-tinted ages of this world, there is no distinction or prejudice.

Only comradeship.

And on a lone rainy night on the outskirts of Mystic Falls, as the winds of nature and tempests of magic swirl and blend with spattered blood and ripping snarls, friend fights for friend—

(_"Watch out!"_

_Elena whirls at the desperate shout, catching sight as a mighty crack of thunder rips across the air and a streak of witch-induced lightning spirals through the sky, felling several trees…_

…_one of which is heading straight for Matt. Only Caroline is far faster than any tree, and she has tackled him to safety before Elena can even think to take a step towards her oldest friend. _

_Elena may not be able to move with lightning quick reflexes, but that doesn't mean she isn't perfectly capable of firing an arrow from her crossbow cleanly into the back of one of Esther's fiendish underlings attempting to impale Tyler on a repulsively long claw. A merciless Stefan joins the fray seconds later, helping a struggling Tyler plow his way through the creatures.)_

—lovers guard lovers—

(_Jeremy stands protectively before an inaudibly chanting Bonnie as she works to intervene with the dark forces Esther now calls upon to carry out her bidding, valiantly pushing back the hordes upon hordes of gruesome creatures brought to this forsaken place by Esther's own hand from the world beyond. _

_A cry is let loose as an angry gash is torn jaggedly across Finn's arm by the malformed hand of one of the demons, a furious Sage bearing down upon the transgressor only a moment later to decidedly end it in a few short strikes. She examines an abashed Finn then, teasing him about being the damsel in distress as the wound knits itself closed. Side by side, they leap forwards in a flashing blur of red and black. _

_And though Elena cannot quite see him, she feels the soft stir of his presence as Elijah tries to be everywhere at once, guarding over his family yet not allowing even a single creature to scathe her. He flickers into being to swiftly decapitate one monster that cunningly lopes towards Rebekah from behind with glistening teeth; effortlessly rips another apart that has pinned a struggling Kol down; and with a flick of his wrist twists a creature into nothing more than a mangled body when it dares to sink sharpened claws into Klaus._

_Elena is briefly wrenched out of the path of a group of charging demons, swept against a hard body and spirited to the opposite end of the battlefield. She is only left with the impression of dark, concerned eyes and a gentle hand upon her cheek before he vanishes to help another and she whirls to face the next oncoming monster. )_

— and former enemies do battle back-to-back.

(_"I certainly hope your fighting prowess is more impressive than what you've shown me in the past," Klaus smirks at a glaring Damon as he effortlessly dodges and subsequently beheads one of the corporeal ghouls their mother has summoned to stall them as she completes her sinister spell. _

_With movements far too blurred for the natural eye to follow, Damon has swept up a jagged tree limb and swiftly impaled five creatures of the netherworld. They burst into flame, mock hearts punctured and hollow bodies crumpling upon themselves lifelessly. He turns to Klaus. Raises an eyebrow mockingly. "That good enough for you?"_

_A bloody grin. "Quite.")_

Hours pass, and then days, or perhaps weeks or months or years—the flow of time grinds to a halt when blood colors the world crimson and bodies litter the land in abundance, ones you pray don't bear the ashen face of a loved one.

The incessant stream of monstrous demons eases and then ceases altogether as Esther's power steadily wanes, drained by the counterspell Bonnie has called upon and Esther's own weaving of a curse meant to permanently rid the world of her children and the vampire pestilence that resulted from their creation. She stands, a solitary figure upon a grassy hill, with nothing more than her hatred fueling her strength and grim determination holding her wretched body up.

And then Elijah, just Elijah, stands before her, the blank-eyed, black veined creature poised motionlessly with her arms raised to the heavens bearing no resemblance to the woman who had once sung him lullabies every night as a child…

…who had once fretted over every scrape and bruise her offspring tumbled home with…

…who had once had a lilting laugh that could charm the birds from their nests and the fish from the river…

…who had once had arms unfailingly spread in a welcoming gesture of love…

…who had once, a long time ago, been his mother.

But no longer.

He draws in a deep breath (_one he no longer needs)_ and feels the encompassing essences of Niklaus and Rebekah and Kol and Finn surrounding him; a familial solidarity that none could break. They had begun this together, over a thousand achingly stretched and tired years ago, and so too will they finish it as such. Always, he knows, and forever.

It is enough for Elijah to steel his resolve…

…and then rush forwards, his fingers plunging unhesitatingly into the chest cavity of the witch before him. There is a soft, wet sensation of a thrumming heart against his skin—he's almost surprised to find one, half-expecting this particular space to carry nothing more than hardened stone, silent and unmoving.

And then his fingers curl upwards, eventually clenching into a tight fist that echoes the constricting squeeze of his insides as he does so.

It is over quickly.

He catches her as she falls (_the entire world seems to slow it happens)_, sinking to his knees as the thin form of his mother drags him down with her.

Elijah cannot avoid evenly meeting her dulling gaze as her blue eyes widen with horror, and disbelief, and, if he's being truthful with himself, just the smallest suggestion of liberation, a respite from her duties as an enforcer of the balance of nature. Only another short moment and her body crumbles to mere dust in his arms (_nature, it seems, is finally reclaiming its servant for the last time)_, the remainder of their ghoulish opponents soon following in the wake of her demise.

Elijah stays that way, sentient and unwilling to stir, staring lifelessly at his empty arms as water drips mockingly through his dark hair and down his cheeks in cold rivulets (_whether it comes from the sky or his eyes, he knows not)._

They come one by one, first an ashen-faced Finn, reaching out hesitantly to touch his brother's frozen shoulder, before abruptly withdrawing it. Then is Rebekah, clothing bloody and petite shoulders shaking in silent sobs in an uncommon display of raw emotion—she stands a little ways behind Elijah, her repressed cries striking deep within the empty space in his chest. Kol, eyes devoid of his usual laughter and face pale, clutches Rebekah's hand like a broken little boy. Last is Klaus, who for once lacks any cockiness or confidence in his air, slowly striding up until he stands beside Elijah's bowed form, joining in his older brother's wordless vigilance over the loss they have all been forced to experience once again (_no matter what, losing someone for the second time over isn't any easier than the first time)._

The brothers and sister remain that way until the storm lessens, its intensity fading into nothing more than a soft trickle of tears from the weeping sky, and the reluctant sunshine begins to peek out from behind looming trees. It is morning now, and it is time to move on yet again.

A limping Sage slips her arm through her lover's, gently drawing a still-shocked Finn away from the small gathering of people.

Rebekah is next, a calm Stefan pulling her pallid, numb figure against him and leading her down the sloping hill and far from where death lingers—all enmity is forgotten, or perhaps put on hold, in honor of what they once were and might have been again. Kol follows warily after them, not quite trusting his little sister's wellbeing to another.

Klaus, forever a survivor, needs no convincing to depart…but perhaps he does need the slim hand extended to him by a little blonde vampire, her crystal blue eyes unwavering as he accepts it with a tired, but honest, smile.

And so it is, one by one, that they disappear.

Soon, there is only one that remains, near invisible snatches of sunbeams cascading down on a bowed head of hair.

Elijah's not quite sure how long he kneels there, oblivious to the coming and leaving of his siblings.

Elijah's not quite sure when he feels her drop wearily to her knees beside him, the soft squelch of mud and the _plop plop plop_ of scattered raindrops from overlying tree boughs upon her skin distantly alerting him to her presence.

But he is sure of the fact that his world is suddenly enveloped in her sweet fragrance (_unmarred even by the blood and dirt that coats her like a symbol of her bravery)_ when she loosely wraps her arms around him, face pressed into his shoulder comfortingly as she simply holds him throughout the remainder of the encroaching day.

He is sure of the fact that it is her warm, desperately human body nestled firmly against his, her lashes brushing against the crook of his neck, that anchors him to this Earth, when he's so in danger of completely leaving it. That only her encompassing scent and small fingers upon his skin makes the cavernous hole in his soul ache just that little bit less.

He is sure of the fact that in each second that passes he wants only to draw her ever closer with his empty hands that have nothing left to hold, wants to press his lips tightly against hers so that he doesn't feel so utterly _alone, _and wants to deny like hell how very much he _needs_ Elena Gilbert.

But he doesn't.

So he settles for shaking fingers running soft strokes through his hair, and a melodiously sad voice whispering "_I'm sorry"_ over, and over, and over…

—

—

—

* * *

_to be continued_

* * *

**This is the answer to my hatred of about 95% of the debacle that was Season Three. So much of it was disgusting fan service that was unfair to both Damon and Stefan lovers, a horribly wishy-washy Elena, a total disregard of the potential exploration of the familial relationship of the Original vampires, and culminated into the terrible decision to turn Elena into a vampire, thus robbing the character of everything that made her an invaluable part of the show. Elena was the **_**human**_** voice of Mystic Falls, the **_**human**_** defender. She was special because of her limited abilities and flaws that gave the message that magical powers weren't necessary to strive to protect what was important to you. **

**End diatribe. **

**Anyways, hope my fellow Elijah/Elena shippers enjoy! This story will be short, but hopefully sweet ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

_impulse_

* * *

**IMPORTANT NOTE: This story is set slightly after the episode "All My Children" in which Esther attempted to destroy her children. This means that all the events in episodes after that are firmly being ignored for the purposes of this story. Therefore, Elena is still human, Finn and Sage aren't dead, etc.**

* * *

—

—

—

II.

The following days crawl by with an agonizing slowness in the home of the Originals, a lingering sorrow and engulfing despair dragging out the long hours.

They mourn their mother for the second time in their too-long lives—not only her death, but for the loss of the kind soul that had once sacrificed everything for the wellbeing of her children. There is no fleeing this time, no abandonment of the others for the sake of escaping pain. That path has already been followed by each sibling, and for each subsequently resulted in nothing more than a perpetuated sadness and hollow sense of escape.

The sight of Rebekah curled up against a quiet Finn, reminiscent of the way she was often wont to do as a child; of Klaus sitting back-to-back with Kol, fair and dark hair clashing as they lean upon one another—both become commonplace, each sibling finding themselves bonding more in the ensuing days than they have over the past few centuries.

Each sibling…save one.

At first Klaus advises, his blue eyes glinting with an uncharacteristic disquiet, _Let him be_. _Just let him mourn…it's for the best._

A worried Finn paces relentlessly in front of the closed door of their absent brother, throwing desperate glances at it but refraining from simply barging in.

Kol and Rebekah exchange wide-eyed, uneasy looks, and for once decide to defer to their sibling's command.

But after two consecutive weeks pass in which Elijah fails to emerge from the mansion, or even his room, his siblings unanimously (for once) agree that more drastic action must be taken. He's their eldest sibling after all—their dear big brother. Time has not dampened that relationship, and the pained moans born of bad dreams at night and the ominous silence that emanates from behind his closed door during the day has begun to worry each Original.

Oddly enough, it is Rebekah who finally decides to do something about it.

After realizing that their own attempts to evict their brother from his self-imposed exile have ultimately come to nothing, Rebekah sets off in search of the one person who she undoubtedly knows will succeed where they have failed, the one person who has the greatest likelihood of penetrating the emotionally stolid ramparts their beloved brother has employed in an attempt to seal himself away from a world that has been repeatedly unkind.

She knocks at the Gilbert's front door with no little resentment, but, as she reminds herself when the door swings open to reveal a cautious Elena, it is all for Elijah.

—

—

—

And so, this is how Elijah finds himself, at precisely four o'clock in the evening, staring perplexedly down at a stern-faced Elena.

He had reluctantly, wearily opened his door to a few soft knocks, wondering which sibling he would have to reassure of his mental and emotional wellbeing _this _time, only to be greeted by large chocolate eyes with determination in their depths and a sweet smile laced with steel.

He could deflect Rebekah's sisterly concern, ignore Klaus and Kol's bumbling attempts at psychoanalyzing him (_No,_ he tells them dryly, _having tea with Freud does _not_ make you qualified psychologists)_, and send a frowning Finn off with a few dredged up smiles and pats on the shoulder, but Elijah can instantly recognize an impending match of stubborn wills when faced with the petite human girl before him.

A quick survey of the mansion with his sensitive hearing reveals none of the usual clamor and bustle made by his younger siblings, just the rhythmic breathing of Elena. Their glaring absence combined with Elena's presence means either one of two things: an incredible coincidence, or devious familial plotting.

Given his family's history, Elijah is far more inclined to suspect the latter than even give one moment of consideration to the former.

That they've chosen to send Elena to lure him out of his voluntary isolation after their failed tries at achieving the same is a startling insight to his family's unanticipated perceptiveness of his feelings, as well as a disturbing alert that perhaps he hasn't been as subtle in those aforementioned feelings as he had formerly believed.

"Elena," he begins quietly, her name falling from his lips as both an acknowledgment and the prelude to what will twist into a rebuke, an admonishment for her foolishly and impetuously traversing into a house inhabited by creatures of no conscience…creatures, including him, who had sought and succeeded in harming her in more than one instance.

Elijah pauses. Hearing his own voice for the first time in weeks surprises him—hardly for the novelty of speaking, but rather for the fact that for the first time in his life, he can detect every second of his cumulative existence dragging cumbersomely in his voice.

He wonders if he _appears_ as bone-achingly exhausted as he sounds, wonders how he's going to explain to her that he's in no mood for company—not from _anyone_—without irreparably wounding her feelings. Elijah is well aware that his want for solitude has hurt those who he loves best, and he has absolutely no desire to add yet another name to that list.

Unfortunately for Elijah, he doesn't quite reach that part. In fact, he doesn't quite get beyond that initial utterance of her name.

Still silent, Elena simply reaches out and wraps her fingers tightly around his lax hand, their slenderness contrasting almost humorously with his comparatively larger ones. She's seemingly disregarding him with an averted gaze and carefully blank countenance, only the touch of olive skin upon the patrician pallor of a European one signaling her unadvertised awareness. Elijah's dark eyes cloud with confusion as the young human turns and starts to walk away, tugging lightly with her hand in an unspoken request for him to follow.

Elijah does so, more out of mystification over her contrary behavior than any real conscious decision.

Her quiet figure contradicts any imaginings of words of comfort, understanding, _empathy_ that he had initially supposed her to bring…most likely at the behest of his siblings. She is, for all intents and purposes, _ignoring _him—and Elijah cannot reconcile this wordless Elena with the fiercely compassionate one he's been acquainted with for quite some time.

In an amusing display of an archaic vampire being led about by a young teenage girl, the oddly matched pair eventually ends up in none other than Elijah's very own kitchen.

This particular room's inclusion in the mansion had long been a source of perplexity for Elijah, as none of the Mikaelson children were what one would bestow the lofty title of 'culinary-inclined' upon, and half-hearted forays into the great unknown of cooking by any of them had always resulted in unmitigated disaster. This in mind, for the months the Original siblings had inhabited Klaus's lavish domicile, the kitchen was a largely unexplored area, and to peer through the doors would reveal nothing more than an impersonal emptiness and a visible sheen of dust adorning each surface.

Elijah has to blink and abruptly halt as Elena gives a final little tug on his hand and pulls him into the kitchen, because he's not entirely certain that he can associate the much cleaner room, with a vast array of ingredients and cooking utensils neatly scattered among the countertops and tables, with the disused one he's cyclically used to seeing.

With a fluidity and speed that is far more commonplace to a vampire than a human, she's already busy tugging on an apron that she snags from a table, smoothing it over her clothing and tying the string with deft hands. He's finally startled from his uncertain haze upon the return of her overtly warm fingers on his skin, the touch an unsolicited shock against his naturally cool body temperature.

"Elena." Her name comes out demanding, impatient this time—an accurate reflection of the mood he finds himself slipping further into with her presence.

To her credit, she doesn't take much notice, merely stands before him in her clean white apron and looks up at him innocently. "What?"

He bites back the urge to retort with a sardonic 'And _now_ you're deigning to speak?', painfully reminding himself that no matter how dark his current temperament, she is one of the few people he _cannot_ hurt.

Even if she _does_ so delight in testing the boundaries of his considerable patience at times.

"Would you mind telling me," he says in a voice that indicates it really isn't a suggestion, "What _this_ is, exactly?" He waves an idle hand at the spread of items littering every surface, his black eyes locked warily upon her face.

She smiles slightly, clasping her hands behind her back. "They're baking supplies, Elijah."

"Baking supplies," he repeats dryly, eliciting an affirming nod from the girl in front of him.

"Yes. We're going to be baking," she says simply, enunciating the words slowly as though attempting to break through his slow uptake on the matter. "Therapy baking, to be more precise. Apparently you've been hiding up in your room for nearly two weeks—I thought it was probably better to start small and just get you out as far as the kitchen."

Elijah leans back against the table, surveying her with a practiced look of cold indifference that has hardly ever been unsuccessful in provoking a response of discomfort and fear in others. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Elena." He cocks his head slightly, mouth grim and opaque eyes blank with all the apathy he can muster.

It would be for the best, he thinks, if she would just utilize her normal astuteness and sense his silent, wordless plea for her to _leave_. Because if she stays, it seems inevitable that he will end up repelling her with the darker, melancholic side of him that he has always managed to cloak with courtesy and polite detachment in her company.

She, however, in typical stubborn Elena-fashion, is undeterred by any of his cues, both verbal and nonverbal.

"Because we're friends." Her earnestness thoroughly takes him aback; that one, trusting statement causing him to dig his fingers painfully into the table's surface. Uncertainty blooms on her face as he remains pensively silent, and she amends with a small shrug and a fading smile, "Or at least, I'd like to think we are. So of course I'm concerned."

With an elegant turn of the heel she spins, presenting her back to him in what some would consider a foolish move when inhabiting the same room as a vampire (and particularly not one in the sort of moods he's found himself in as of late). Elena, however, is as indiscriminating as ever—treating him as though it were any other beloved friend or family member in the room, one that would never dream of harming her in an unguarded state.

Elijah's not sure if he's reluctantly impressed with her spirit or exasperated with the absurdly low level of self-awareness she has, but all are overshadowed by the heavy burden of her trust in him that constricts his throat like a tightly-drawn noose.

"Oh, and before you draw any conclusions," she tells him seriously with a glance over her shoulder, her mahogany hair sweeping with the motion. "This was my idea."

He gives her a hard, measured gaze, one she returns honestly and unflustered. "Really." The word is uttered flatly, more of a dry statement than a question.

That alone is enough to draw a wry smile out of her. "Really," she agrees readily.

"You're here solely of your own volition?" Though he tries to temper the overwhelming skepticism, he doesn't quite succeed. Regardless of whatever his feelings were towards this girl, blind trust was hardly natural for a vampire and suspicion was adopted as second nature over the long years of survival in a world that thrived upon the strong clambering over the weak and gullible.

Even the steady, non-skittering thrum of her heart, a beat striving to assert her honesty, does little in assuaging the nagging voice in his mind, the one that repeatedly and viciously whispers that the frightening possibility of her caring for him is not one that he need be concerned about, a possibility that could never exist. _Because you're a murderer_, the voice hisses vindictively in his head, sounding wretchedly like his mother. _Filth of no honor, tainting my blood_…taking_ my blood, in fact_, _Elijah_.

_If you can kill your own mother, isn't it best to be rid of the girl before your bloodstained hands inevitably crush the life from her as well? All of great Neptune's ocean indeed…I'd shudder to think of how red it would turn were you to dip your hands within its waters…_

Elijah presses a desperate hand briefly to his forehead, fighting to banish the spectral castigations as he refocuses on the petite human before him.

Elena's smile is changing into a tiny smirk that twitches on her lips, as though she finds his words to be fuel for her amusement. It's been quite a while since anyone has dared to laugh at him—of _course_ Elena would be the first to do so. "You can either choose to believe that, Elijah, or you can settle for the alternate explanation of my being here."

"Which is?" From her subtly smiling eyes and rosy cheeks, he's sure it will be strange one.

She doesn't fail to deliver. "That Klaus got down on bended knee and begged me to deliver you back into the world of the living." With a theatrical pause she taps her fingers against her chin, feigning deep thought. "I'm sure there was serenading and roses in there as well."

Elijah tries not to closely observe the small flash of hurt that crosses her face when he averts his eyes from her, effectively shutting her out despite the attempted levity. He shoves hands that are balled tightly into fists deep into his pockets.

"Regardless of whose scheme it was, I'm in no mood to entertain, Elena," he says shortly. "You should depart—I believe you're quite capable of seeing yourself out?" He closes his eyes temporarily, finding respite in the darkness that blots out the pristine white light that the apron-clad girl presents. It is much easier, he realizes, to send her away from him when there is no tempting picture of _sanctuary _and _comfort _that masquerades in the form of a young human with soft chocolate eyes before him.

She's still there, he realizes with dismay, when he opens his eyes again. Like an apparition that haunts the undeserving and damned, he also realizes that she has no intention of leaving him be. That as long as he's hurting, Elena Gilbert will staunchly refuse to abandon him due to that damnable compassion of hers.

And so he makes the choice for her, turning sharply on his heel and quickly striding away.

"Please."

The soft, plaintive word is enough to slow him to a halt. He stops at the doorway, his hand pausing from where it grasps the frame in a tight hold that threatens to splinter the intricately carved cherry wood into thousands of red shards.

"Please, Elijah. You need to…you need to do this with me." Despite her words, there is no plea, no begging in her voice—she's far too proud for that, he thinks. Instead there is only concern…concern and an earnestness that is nearly foreign to him.

He looks to her face, and instantly knows the action to be a mistake.

She's wearing that expression—the one that inevitably causes him to acquiesce to her desire, like stone crumbling before a relentless assault of water and wind. The last time she had donned it in his presence he had found himself imparting secrets of his past to her by a sunlit lake, speaking of things he had long since cast away from his heart and mind in a desperate act of self-preservation.

As though able to sense his overwhelming hesitance, she stretches an inviting hand towards him. Beckoning him away from the doorway.

Salvation.

Or damnation.

He closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and…

—

—

—

"Cookies," she mutters to herself with a decisive nod, surveying the baking ingredients upon the countertop. "It's better to begin easy."

Feeling distinctly ill-at-ease with his shirt sleeves rolled up and an apron tied snugly around his torso (forced onto him by an obdurate Elena), Elijah can only watch with dark, alert eyes as she bustles around the kitchen. An alien sense of uselessness overcomes him as he silently observes her distracted movements and awaits her instructions—being at the whim of another has never come easy to Elijah, who had spent an incalculable number of years being the dominant one, both over humanity and his erstwhile brothers and sister.

That being said, he had to marvel at Elena's propensity for persuading him to fall into such a role. Though it must be noted that, much to his consternation, he had often found himself having to refrain from becoming completely at her doe-eyed beck and call more often than not in her company.

He wonders if others succumb as easily to her ingenuous gaze and determined disposition, or if he is unique in that aspect.

But given the number of suitors vying for her attention, he rather thinks not.

Immersed as she is in sorting through her ingredients (presumably picking out what is necessary for _cookies_) she doesn't even hear him as he walks up behind her—once again displaying a horrible lack of awareness that doesn't do much to alleviate Elijah's concerns over her continued safety in the world of the supernatural.

"Elena."

He's forced to take a reflexively quick step back to avoid being stabbed in the chest with a wooden spoon as she squeaks and spins around. Dealing with a vein-ridden, pale, and temporarily unresponsive vampire is most likely not how Elena had planned to spend the day, after all.

"Your quick response is admirable, but unneeded," he intones wryly, observing the way in which her eyes widen to comical proportions when she comprehends that yes, she nearly succeeded in staking Elijah yet again…something that was most likely counterproductive to her intended plans of providing the proverbial friendly shoulder to lean on.

A nearly imperceptible blush dances lightly on her olive cheeks, and she momentarily seems to be in desire of a quick and merciful death. Due to the fact that she _was_ sacrificing a portion, however short, of her brief mortal life to spend it with an initially-inhospitable vampire many times her age, Elijah glosses over the small faux pas with a mild-mannered prompting of, "What is it you need me to do?"

She seizes upon the opportunity he offers, immediately pressing a sheet of paper into his hand. "You can start on the initial steps—combining the butter and sugars shouldn't be difficult." Elijah has the amusing impression that he's being humored, but refrains from commenting as she points at the counter. "I've assembled most of the ingredients over there, Elijah. You should be able to find everything."

"I'll certainly endeavor not to fail."

"Don't mock," she admonishes lightly, folding her arms and setting her jaw in the stubborn manner he's begun to recognize so well. There's the barest coating of smugness when she speaks again. "Cooking is hard enough for most human men—and for someone who doesn't eat food on a regular basis, I'll be interested to see how you fare, Elijah."

He raises an eyebrow at the challenge in her voice she's taken no pains to conceal, her zeal for anticipating finding an area of expertise he's less than proficient in rather entertaining. A little belatedly, he's somewhat surprised to realize that he's neatly falling into what appears to be Elena's plan of distracting him from the mire of alternatively despairing and self-loathing thoughts that have been occupying his mind as of late.

The consciousness that he is once again being ensnared by his own fascination of the dynamic being that is Elena Gilbert serves in pricking his annoyance, and he brushes past her without another syllable uttered. If she's confused at his sudden removal from the conversation she makes no mention of it, perhaps merely accepting it as yet another alteration in his normally flawless manners as a result of grief's strain.

They begin working in an awkwardly wordless atmosphere, one that stretches on for several long minutes and is interrupted only by the light _ting_ of metal upon metal or the soft swish of ingredients being swept into one homogeneous mixture.

Elijah, for his part, remains silent largely due to the tendrils of frustration that have begun to inconveniently fester within his heart—an organ that he's woefully unable to garner any purpose from at this particular moment. Because he's more than aware that this is the second time in which he's allowed Elena to come dangerously close to a part of himself he had long ago swore to deny to others…particularly those bearing _her_ face.

The tempting phantom sensation of gentle arms wrapping around him, cradling him as he collapsed in an emotionally exhausted wreck after ripping through his mother's heart, has returned two-fold with Elena's presence. And while his stoic side rebels at the idea of allowing himself to draw from the comfort she so readily offers, the unabashedly selfish portion of Elijah feels little remorse in using Elena in such a way.

It is this side of him that Elijah struggles to deny right now, his turmoil within causing him to pay scant attention as his hands move automatically in accordance with Elena's written directions. _Love is a vampire's greatest weakness_, Klaus' blue eyes stare stonily at him, his lips pressing into a thin, tight line after he spits out the words. _Caring is a weakness._

Elijah casts a weary look at Elena, now humming tunelessly to herself as she scans a recipe. Elijah has been self-sustaining for so long, never quite receiving in return the same attentive concern he bestowed upon his siblings, that he's more than a little reticent and even resentful at the fact that he has twice relied on a human girl to compensate for the weakness of _caring_ he's strived and failed at ridding himself of for centuries.

He sets the bowl down on the counter beside her with slightly more force than necessary. Being that he's a vampire with the accompanying strength, it causes the bowl to emit an ominous cracking sound. Elena's eyes skim over him and flick to the bowl before reaching out and checking to make sure he hadn't actually broken it.

"What, precisely, are you doing here, Elena?" The words come out far more curt than he would have liked, but as most things in his life, it is too late to retract them.

"I thought we already covered that," she answers, unfazed at his sudden appearance.

"I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that there's far more for the telling."

Silence hangs between them for a moment.

Elena clears her throat, absentmindedly running a hand through the loose ponytail at the gracefully sloping nape of her neck. Elijah's gaze follows the movement idly before he catches himself

"Fine," she relents.

She stares down at the mixing bowl grasped tightly in her hand, methodically stirring the batter without actually seeing it. "My mother did this with me and Jeremy, when I was six," she says quietly, her voice bland and dreamlike as she's caught in the memories of the past. "That was when I had my first experience with death. Our favorite grandmother had passed away, and we found it difficult to cope…to recover. We were just children, so I guess it was natural."

"I am hardly a child, Elena." The words slash out like the flick of a whip and causes her to turn wide eyes upon him, and he immediately regrets the sharpness within his tone. His intent not to punish her for his own failings resurfaces to the forefront of his mind, and he sighs. "My apologies. Continue."

Her whisk is set down firmly on the countertop, the resulting clatter inaudible to human ears ricocheting like a gunshot in his.

"Even when our parents died last year, Jeremy and I did this. I wasn't trying to preach or demean," she says, releasing a small, gusty breath as she exhales softly. The small furrow in her brow and slight clench of her hands make it all too clear that Elena is trying to reign in some of her indignation at the reproach. "I was just saying that I don't think you're ever too old to grieve, Elijah. And I thought…" she hesitates before continuing. "I thought you might need to be reminded of that. That's why I came today."

In an eerie reflection of his own voice earlier, hers is similarly tainted with a heavy, overburdened quality that gives him pause.

The memory of her aunt's limp body in a fire-lit clearing, twisted and blankly staring; of a sole photograph of two smiling, dark-haired people, obviously cherished, sitting by her bedside, stand prominently out within his mind. How many times, he ruminates with a sudden clarity, has she been forced to do this? How many times has she fixed a determined smile on her face for the benefit of others, for her younger brother, and resorted to even the most ridiculous, desperate of rituals and tasks that would lessen the unbearable sting of loss?

It's only then that Elijah realizes what it must have cost her to come here today.

Recrimination sweeps through him with at the old echoes of pain that linger in her defiant gaze; he reaches up to gently brush away an errant lock of hair tickling her cheek, apology in the nearly-imperceptible graze of his fingertips upon her skin. "As I said," he murmurs. "Forgive my rudeness, Elena. I'm afraid I'm being a bit of a churlish ingrate this evening."

She nods in simple acceptance and doesn't recoil from his tentative touch, a small smile blooming on her lips. "Churlish ingrate? Isn't that a little harsh?"

"In coming here you've reawakened old wounds, Elena." His hand falls from her face, as though scorched. "You are yet again hurting yourself for my sake." A short moment passes in which he recollects the image of a girl risking her friends' wrath and her own survival by revealing a plan, a plan she knows will almost certainly kill him, heedless of the consequences. His voice deepens in barely-suppressed bitterness at being deeply entrenched in this girl's debt once more. "Do not imagine me to be ignorant of that."

"Elijah…"

"There is no need," he interrupts shortly, sensing the empathy coloring her voice and brushing aside her evident concern. "Please, go on with your story."

For a transient moment he thinks she's going to argue, but she merely surveys his implacable expression and shrugs minutely.

"So, anyways," she continues, a fond upturn of her lips highlighting her remembrance. "My mother, Jeremy, and I baked and baked and baked until we had baked all the sadness right out of us."

"Impressive," Elijah observes impassively. "Given the scientific implausibility of such a thing."

"Says the vampire to the Doppelganger," Elena retorts calmly, though with an undeniably pointed air. An unbidden smirk plays on his lips, and he inclines his head marginally in concession. "But it worked. Either because we were too tired to cry any longer or because we actually poured all our unhappiness into a bunch of cookies, I don't know. But my mom always believed in positive outlets for emotion…and I think she was right."

"Mothers usually are." His eyes are dark as his own mother's malicious words seep darkly into his thoughts for the umpteenth time, reviling the twisted _things_ she had once lovingly beheld as her irreplaceable children.

Elena looks up in surprise at his admission; a surprise that quickly deteriorates into worry at the cold remoteness that is fast replacing the subtle humor and warm intelligence usually dancing in Elijah's unfathomable gaze. "But not about everything," she murmurs, tilting her head in consideration.

Her quiet words are effective in recapturing Elijah's forebodingly waning attention, effortlessly warding off his darkening mood with an almost discomforting ease.

Elijah thinks about Rebekah and Kol's combined laughter echoing freely about the house when they pounce on an unsuspecting Klaus in a (usually successful) attempt to annoy him; of Nik's ridiculously sentimental and, frankly, _terrible_ haikus that he painstakingly composes on the sides of his drawings; of Finn's shy smiles rewarded on only a select few and his even rarer grins that radiate an encompassing warmth.

"No," he agrees, eyes meeting hers with a peculiar softness. "Not about everything."

He watches as a red tint minutely flushes upon her tanned skin, quirking an eyebrow as she hastily busies herself with spinning around and dumping in an entire package of chocolate chips into the well-stirred batter. Without looking at him, she absently thrusts what he supposes to be a cookie sheet towards him with the vague instruction of "Grease this" with a wave towards a bottle of baking spray.

Elijah dutifully complies, eyeing the innocuous bottle with a somewhat uncertain look. After a moment's deliberation, he decides that utilizing cooking spray can't possibly be more daunting than any of the other novel cooking tasks he's been subjected to thus far. Making sure that his companion is occupied and not at all able to witness his first attempt at this, he quickly shakes the bottle and rather awkwardly coats the sheet in an enveloping cloud of cooking spray.

The sharp aroma of the spray rebounds almost immediately and smacks right into his accursedly acute olfactory senses, causing him to cough slightly and hurriedly drop the offending bottle and cookie sheet onto the counter with an irritated glare.

"Elijah?"

He glances up to find Elena regarding him strangely from her own task, her fingers splayed suspiciously across the span of her mouth as though repressing a laugh. "Are you alright?"

"Of course." His tone is quite nonchalant and masterfully unruffled as he ignores the fact that only moments ago he had been locked in a veritable scuffle with kitchen accessories. "And you never finished the end of your story, I believe."

"About baking with my mother?"

"Indeed. I was rather curious as to how you ended up disposing of your baked goods. I'm supposing that it took a considerable number of cookies to resolve your mourning for your grandmother. And then you ate them all?" Elijah rather hopes that Elena's grand plan does not involve indulging in every single culinary creation produced today. Years of attempting to console Rebekah in her various moping periods had taught each of the Mikaelson men that girls tended towards plowing through as many sugary items (or people) as a universal solution to emotional, mental, and physical problems of all varieties.

Elena promptly turns to fully look at him, eyes large and mouth agape in a perfect representation of innocent horror. "Of course not! You can't bake all your unhappy feelings into a cake and then eat it! It'd just end up inside of you again."

As she gives him a childishly reproving look, as though he ought to have known better, Elijah feels the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Then what, pray tell, do you do with all of these…" he pauses, searching for the correct term. "Evil baked goods?" He finishes, figuring that essentially described the cookies, cakes, and other gooey substances he was supposed to be ridding all of his sadness and anger into.

A sheepish expression flickers across Elena's pretty visage, her voice matching it equally in uncharacteristic bashfulness. "We, er, give them to other people." Noticing the growing amusement in his eyes, she's quick to defend, "It's _harmless_ to others! Mostly. I think."

"Oh?"

"Well as long as you don't _tell_ people they're eating evil baked goods," she huffs lowly in a rare display of inanity, her sweeping hair falling over one shoulder as she hunches over her batter bowl to stir it with renewed fervor. "But if you did that, they're probably not going to eat them at _all_ then."

"I can imagine," he deadpans, feeling more than a little ridiculous engaging in such silly banter; ridiculousness that rapidly fades with the light gale of laughter that escapes Elena. "And which unfortunate souls are we to be gifting these confections upon, then?"

Elena straightens up beside him, thoughtfulness dancing in her eyes as mischief plays along her mouth. He looks down at her as she glances up, the playful smile lighting up her face causing him to anticipate her next words. "Does Klaus enjoy sweet things, Elijah?"

He's as powerless against her as ever, and the buildup of sorrow and loathing and regret that he's fashioned into a veritable fortress comes crumbling down with one fell swoop. The kitchen echoes with the sound of their mingled laughter; Elijah's deep baritone melding with the feminine huskiness of Elena's voice.

—

—

—

They stay in that kitchen for two days straight, doing nothing but baking and talking. For once, there are no end-of-the-world crises or lives-are-at-stake stratagems to impede on their conversation or cast a dark pall over their interaction—they are just Elijah and Elena, vampire and human baker extraordinaires.

_One basket of muffins piles into five._

Elijah learns that Elena has a mortal fear of ducks after being chased by one when she was four, that she secretly watches and re-watches old black and white silent films when the mood strikes her, and that mathematics is her favorite subject as of late because, as she quietly puts it, there is only ever one correct answer to arrive at. She hates Wednesdays because they're so far from either end of the week, wishes she could visit the grandest libraries in every great city of the world, and loves her younger brother more than any other person she has or ever will meet, despite her continual restraint from whacking him over the head in his moments of particular idiocy (an impulse that Elijah, with his three younger brothers and one sister, is not unfamiliar with).

Elijah is oddly comforted to know that beneath the boundless bravery and unfailing confidence that she's been forced to adopt from the hardships forced upon her again and again, Elena is still very much a human girl. Unlike her predecessors, whose humanity had crumbled under an onslaught of impossible odds, Elena's spirit has remained impossibly undamaged and irreversibly intact.

_One tray of chocolate cookies multiplies into ten._

Elena laughingly demands that rather than her running a monologue that is essentially an autobiography, he contribute something in kind.

Elijah, in a rare moment of being caught off guard, hesitates uncertainly. Conversing with humans at any length is not a talent he has pursued or cultivated over the centuries (particularly ever since meeting Katarina). In his limited experience, however, most humans (the ones that are privy to the fact that he is an ancient vampire, and those are few and far between) wish to know about the history he's witnessed, the events he's lived through, the people both noble and unsavory that he's met. And so, assuming Elena will be the same, Elijah launches into what promises to be a lengthy discourse on the key happenings in history he has happened to be a participant in.

He doesn't get far.

She presses a fleeting finger against his lips, her own lifting into a smile. "Elijah," she says, his name rolling liltingly off her tongue, along with a small bit of exasperation for good measure. "I wasn't asking about what I'm sure is a very long and impressive list of everything you've experienced in life…I was asking about _you_."

And Elijah, who is instantaneously reminded of the folly of mistaking Elena Gilbert to act in the same tiresomely predictable manner of other humans, is once again caught off guard. Whether it is from the slim finger that had briefly touched upon his lips or her surprising yet gratifying words is most definitely a debatable question.

"I…don't have anything to tell," he says evasively, preoccupying himself with whipping up the cake frosting as per Elena's precise instructions. Unfortunately, Elijah forgets to do this at the human speed, and so it takes him about three seconds to finish it. _Damn it_, his mind helpfully supplies.

"People love to talk about themselves," Elena counters, not accepting his meager dismissal of the subject.

"Humans, perhaps." Disdain is usually quite effective in killing conversation, Elijah's found.

"I've met some long-winded vampires in my time, Elijah."

"And I am not one of them." Elijah easily masks his amusement as Elena's brow furrows and her frustration with him grows palpable.

She blinks at him, absentmindedly running a hand through her hair (he decides not to mention to her the white, speckled trail of flour she dusts in its wake). "Okay, start simple, then. How about your favorite color?"

He raises an eyebrow at the odd question. "I've never particularly favored any one over the others, Elena." He withdraws a cake pan from the oven, depositing it into Elena's hands and smothering a smirk as she takes it automatically and sets it on the counter, annoyed at his answer.

"How can you not have a favorite color?" She protests rather indignantly. "Everyone has a favorite color."

"Then I suppose you've found the exception."

He's treated to a surprisingly stubborn glower from the normally mild-mannered girl. But Elena Gilbert has faced down werewolves, witches, and vampires galore, and it seems she is hardly about to capitulate even to the oldest, strongest one of her acquaintance. "Just pick one. Off the top of your head."

Her voice is so authoritative and unyielding that Elijah feels his mouth already moving without his control. "Brown."

Her expressive eyes. Her long, tumbling hair. The tanned tint of her skin. Qualities all shared by her ancestors, and yet, somehow, uniquely beautiful and entirely new on the living, vibrant wonder that is Elena.

An evident dose of surprise flashes upon her face, and Elijah wonders at the statistical probability of being over a thousand years old and yet still more than capable of blurting out the most inconvenient of things without the permission of one's own brain.

Before she can give voice to the logical next question of "Why?" that he can astutely see forming on her lips, he chooses the lesser of two evils and thus begins the difficult task of telling her about himself. It sufficiently distracts her from asking a question he most certainly does not wish her to ask; a question that Elijah himself is uncomfortable examining too closely.

_One cake turns out another and another and another; chocolate and vanilla and marble_.

He tells her about Mystic Falls back in the days of wilderness and savagery, when the only law of the land was to survive the obstacles nature and humanity put in one's path. He tells her of hot nights when he was hungry when the hunt went badly, of days when the frost was so thick upon the ground that one could barely step without slipping on a dangerously icy patch. He tells her about his human life, about his duties as the firstborn son of the family.

_A batch of strawberry scones is made, and then quite another few._

Elijah spins tales of his childhood, of his exasperation when Kol and Klaus inevitably found themselves in need of rescue from some angered creature or perilous situation; how Finn, with his wide brown eyes and curly hair, followed him around like a small shadow; how Rebekah was spoiled to death by doting brothers who each outdid themselves in an effort to impress her. He speaks haltingly of Henrik, the youngest of them all, who had the purest heart and lightest laugh Elijah had ever been fortunate enough to hear.

_Apple pies, one and two and three and four, are lined up carefully along a windowsill._

He confides in a quietly listening Elena about his mother—only the good memories, the ones that have been plaguing him these past few weeks with increasing regularity. These recollections are the worst, those small snippets of his mother humming cheerfully as she cooked, or braiding Rebekah's long, shining hair while laughing at some wild tale her children had cooked up during their adventures in the woods. Elena does nothing more than look at him with a simple sort of understanding, slipping her hand into his even when he confesses the conflicting resentment he felt at having to be the one to carry out the deed of truly killing Esther and the protective relief that none of his younger siblings had to be hurt by doing such a thing.

Elena merely squeezes his hand, thin fingers gently interlocking with his own, and tells him he's a good older brother. That his anger towards them, his bitterness at having to be the one among them to end their mother's life doesn't make him any less of a good brother—it simply makes him human.

Elijah cannot remember the last time he was told that.

—

—

—

It's midnight at the end of the second consecutive day she's been here, and Elena is sleeping soundly slumped over the kitchen table. Her long hair pools on the table as her head nestles in a downy white pile of cleaned towels and aprons, and there is the smallest smudge of flour upon her nose.

His gaze reluctantly leaves the sleeping girl at the table to briefly sweep across the room. Every inch of the kitchen is smothered with any and every type of baked good imaginable, creating a cacophony of enticing smells that overtake the dusty, wooden odor that has lingered in the air ever since Klaus built this house. The lamps are turned on and emit the faintest of glows, illuminating the room with a relaxed light.

In these past two days, Elijah had felt it to be more of a 'home' than ever before…and it had been due solely to the girl now tiredly passed out upon a heap of clean laundry.

Elijah, infinitely careful not to wake the slumbering girl, fluidly crouches down beside her.

This is the last night, he acknowledges to himself, that he can keep her here with him; the last night in which he can selfishly indulge in her presence, in her laughter and her smiles, and soothe the tears in his soul that eternity has thus far wrought. If he allows himself to keep her here for yet another day, the two of them locked away from the rest of the harried world in this little kitchen that carries the scents of sugar and chocolate and scorched warmth, he won't be able to release her.

And while he's certainly not opposed to such an idea, he's certain that Elena would not appreciate being held captive by an ancient vampire once again.

He tilts his head, messy dark hair falling haphazardly across his forehead. Elijah continues to observe her with oddly gentle eyes, a wordless sentinel reassured in the fact that he could absorb this sight without the fear of meeting her penetrating gaze, the fear of her discerning more than he wished to reveal from the expression he oft struggles to control in her presence.

Despite Elena's unwavering faith in his self-control and rationality, Elijah is, at his core, still a man through and through—prone to bouts of insatiable _want _and _longing_ and _greed_. Ancient vampire he may be, but he's finding it rather difficult to maintain his icy poise as he kneels before her like a devoted vassal to his queen.

So perhaps it is this lingering remnant of impulsive human male that is present when he delicately reaches up and wipes off the offending dust of flour on her nose; when that same hand drifts lower to skim across the incomparable softness of her cheek; when his thumb tentatively touches upon the corner of her lips and lingers there.

But Elijah really cannot place blame on whatever straggling parts of greedy human are still left inside of him when he inclines his face closer to hers. That overwhelming burn to kiss her is entirely _him_—that one remaining sliver that belongs to neither human nor vampire.

The furious struggle against his own instincts, his inherent honor warring viciously against abandon to passion, is entirely _him_.

The tired sigh that escapes him as he withdraws from her and resignedly rests his head in his cradling hands is entirely _him._

And the begrudging resentment with which he looks upon the night hours that slip by elusively, mockingly counting down his dwindling time with her, is entirely _him_.

—

—

—

* * *

**Don't ask me where the heck the idea of Elijah and Elena therapy baking came from. But I could weirdly see Elena being the type of person who resorts to vicarious baking in times of crises, and Elijah (being helpless against her as ever) would probably just be pulled along with it XD **

**So one of my friends commented that Elijah's a bit of a bastard in this chapter. I completely agree—of course he's going to be slightly off-tilt; the man killed his mother. Out of the entire group of siblings, it's always seemed to me that Elijah's actually the most emotive one of the lot (and I mean true emotions, not the hissy fits Rebekah regularly throws). And Elena is written as a slightly more idealized version because of two things: one, this is from Elijah's point of view. I think the guy really has this tendency to view her in this lovely rosy light. Two, this is the more mature, refined Elena we rarely see, who only comes out to play on the show when she's around Elijah and not mooning over You-Know-Who and You-Know-Who's brother.**

**And kudos to anyone who gets the 'All of great Neptune's oceans' reference. Restore my faith in the literary knowledge of humanity, please!**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You're all so wonderful :) I'd leave to hear what you guys thought of this chapter!**


End file.
